


A Strangeness In The Ice

by bikerchicks



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternative Universe - Researchers in Antarctica, Daryl is good with numbers and bad with words, M/M, Mutual Pining, Questioning Sexuality
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-12 12:20:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29384760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bikerchicks/pseuds/bikerchicks
Summary: Daryl’s mind still boggles at the fact that this is somehow his life. Some redneck from BumFuck Nowhere, Georgia is now doing fancy research in Antarctica.
Relationships: Daryl Dixon/Jesus
Comments: 6
Kudos: 17





	A Strangeness In The Ice

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Stercorarius maccormicki](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17498819) by [Mugatu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mugatu/pseuds/Mugatu). 



> A/N: Everyone is much younger than canon.

There was no possible arrangement of words in the English language that would adequately describe how mind-numbingly cold it was. Even the word  _ cold _ seemed to have lost all meaning. The air was biting and angry, as if upset that humans have found a way to inhabit the continent, despite its best efforts to make it uninhabitable. 

Daryl was a part of a 3-person engineering team from the Applied Physics Lab at the University of Maryland. The group worked in collaboration with multiple other universities to better understand star formation by mapping out the Milky Way. This trip marked the third time he'd been on the ice, yet the gusts of wind still stung like a fresh papercut. Daryl’s mind still boggles at the fact that this is somehow his life. Some redneck from Bumfuck Nowhere, Georgia is now doing fancy research in Antarctica.

A memory of his dad crept up into his mind. His breath reeked of gin as he told Daryl he _ain’t ever gonna be shit_ , and that no, he couldn’t _take the fucking truck, this ain’t no fucking charity, boy._ It was August and the air was thick, an oppressive 90ºF with a 100 percent humidity; it might as well have been raining bath water. He walked all six miles to his first day of 10th grade, only to drop out seven months later to find work. 

The approaching roar of a large engine brought him back to the present, and he realized he had been drifting. After what seemed like a frozen eternity, Daryl saw a shuttle turn the corner. The bright red bus propped up on six enormous wheels pulled up to the group. On the side of the bus, in large, bold, capital letters were a decal that read ‘ _ IVAN THE TERRA-BUS _ ’. Everyone took turns placing their luggage and equipment carefully in the cargo space on the side of the shuttle. The door opened and a ramp slowly descended. Warm air greeted him as he climbed the ramp. Being one of the first to board, Daryl took a seat towards the back.

Exhaustion came as a stark contrast to the comfort of his seat as he nestled deeper into the iconic red parka. Painfully numb hands found their way to his pockets as he turned his head to look out the window. The ice was vast and seemingly endless with its powdered slopes and long strips of clouds that hung low where land meets sky. A parcel of the cool, dry air brushed against the rawness of his throat and settled into the cavity of his lungs. He held it there for a beat before evicting it through his nose.

The morning before he flew out, he received a phone call. He stuffed six pairs of wool socks into this duffle bag (last minute packing should be on his resume) before answering. It was the police, asking if Daryl Dixon was his name and if Wilfred Dixon was his father and if he was from Statenville, Georgia. It was a women officer, he remembered. She sounded tired, like she’d been doing this all day and desperately needed a break. She explained why she was calling and offered him her condolences. He told her she didn’t need to.

“This seat taken?” a voice brought him back; he had been drifting again. Standing in the aisle was a man, maybe a few inches shorter than himself, with a beard and shoulder length brown hair that flowed out from under his beanie. His blue eyes looked at Daryl, waiting for a response. 

It was a few seconds before Daryl could mutter out an answer. “Yeah” Having realized what he had just said, he quickly corrected himself. “I mean no – no, this seat isn’t taken.” His cheeks grew a little warm as he shifted awkwardly in his seat. “Sorry, long day.” 

The man let out a soft chuckle as he sat down, placing his backpack on the ground in the space between his legs. “Don’t worry, I had a long day too.”

He gave a small smile to the stranger and returned his gaze to the frozen oasis. The ramp's motor buzzed as it neatly folds itself back up into the floor, a signal to the passengers that they are about to start moving. After a quick changing of the gears, Ivan the Terra-Bus roared on. 

The fatigue from the multiple plane rides paired with the warmth of Ivan made it utterly impossible to fight the weight of his eyelids. Daryl surrendered.

Daryl woke up as the bus came to a halt. He blinked the sleep from his eyes and immediately let out a groan, head throbbing. Perhaps both the ride and his nap had lasted longer than expected. His head shot up, feeling a jolt of wakefulness when he noticed that he had fallen asleep on the stranger’s shoulder. He offered a groggy  _ shit, my bad _ but the other man paid him no mind.

“I think we’re here.” Bright green –  _ coulda sworn they were blue _ – eyes looked right past him and out the window. A wide, goofy smile plastered on his face. Daryl followed the man’s gaze and saw that they had indeed arrived at the McMurdo Station. “I’m guessing this isn’t your first time? You don’t seem nearly as excited as I do.” 

“Nah, third time.”

“Ah, well you know what they say, third time’s the charm.” The stranger picked up his backpack and stood up from his seat. He gave Daryl a quick wave before he made his way off the bus. Daryl followed suit shortly after and met up with his crew.

The lobby of the administration office was full of people and all of their belongings. The summers were a popular season to travel, endless sunlight all season long and much warmer temperatures by Antarctic standards. Bright orange duffle bags littered the floor as everyone waited for their turn to be checked in by the receptionist.

“All right guys get some rest.  _ Kress _ leaves tomorrow at 8am sharp. Be there at least 15 minutes early to make sure we have everything. Be on time.” Doctor Patricia “Pat” Pham ordered as she passed out their keycards. Standing in at 5 foot nothing, Pat was a small statured Vietnamese woman in her 50s. Her thick black hair always clipped up in a bun. An ice veteran herself, she was one of the two principal investigators on this trip.

The lodging staff assigned the rooms at random. Looking down at his keycard, he let out a small ‘fuck yeah’ when he saw that he had been placed in building 208. It was definitely one of the nicer dormitories, personal bathroom and a large lounging space for the residents. Hell, maybe he’d even get his own room this time around. Throwing his duffle bag over his shoulder, Daryl made his way out of the admissions building and towards his home for the next six months.

* * *

A small beep followed by the sound of the deadbolt unlocking told Daryl that he may now enter. He closed the door behind him and gently lowered his backpack and duffle bag onto the ground. The mattress let out a small squeak in protest under the weight of his body as he collapsed face first onto the bed. A louder, much more excited ‘fuck yeah’ escaped his mouth, the sound of his celebration muffled by the mattress.

He rolled onto his side and studied the small room. It was nothing fancy. The room had a tall dresser for his clothes, a small desk to do his work on, and black out curtains that hung from the windows for those sunny nights. The star of the show was, of course, the bathroom that connected his room and the room next door. A luxurious commodity compared to the community bathrooms the other dormitories had. 

He just wanted to sleep, but his stomach had other plans. The hunger left an unpleasant taste of stomach acid in his mouth. Last thing he ate was an overpriced egg salad sandwich from the New Zealand airport, nearly seven hours ago. It gurgled again, demanding to be fed. He pried himself off the bed and headed for the shower. 

* * *

Daryl wanted to eat alone in his room. He wasn’t in the talking mood, or a people mood, and especially not the talking-to-people-mood. But before he could make for the exit, his lab mates flagged him down. Sasha was a petite Black woman in her early 30s, who was a part of the lab before Daryl had joined. Her naturally curly hair was always pulled back into a neat low bun, remnants of her military days. Glenn on the other hand, was a new addition to the team. He was a young Korean guy with high cheekbones and great hair. If Daryl had to guess, he was probably around his late 20s.

Daryl hesitated at first but eventually gave in and joined them. Occasionally Daryl would pipe up when he was asked a question but mostly, he just watched the two talk. They ate and chatted about the mission and how they expected it to go, hoping to finish early and return home to their families. Sasha missed her wife and kids and Glenn missed his xbox.

After dinner, they invited him to Southern, one of the two bars McMurdo had but he politely declined. Sasha and Glenn protested, insisting that they needed to celebrate Glenn’s first time on the ice, a great feat for the young engineer. He let out an obviously fake yawn and promised them next time. The protest continued as they playfully booed him on his way out.

* * *

Daryl found himself out on the ice with no recollection of how or when he had ventured to such dangerous terranes. The sky above him sat dark and stormy; the promise of an endless summer sunshine was nowhere to be found. Blustering wind hissed like static from an old car radio, and within the white noise, Daryl could hear the wind whispering, trading secrets of him amongst themselves. Bits of snow pelted his face as an eerie sense of danger gnawed at his insides. He desperately searched around for help, eyes looking for no one in particular, just someone. Anyone.

He took a few steps forward, his feet sinking deep in the thick snow beneath him as the cold rattled his lungs. Somewhere far away, his name could be heard. The voice collided with his head like a fist full of quarters, blindsiding him. He needed to leave, get the hell out of here, but his body no longer felt like it belonged to him. 

A dark figure loomed in the distance, just at the cusp of his field of vision. The snow storm made it impossible to see anything, but whatever it was, had a familiar aura. Deep inside him, and almost instinctively, he knew the figure wanted to hurt him. It’s impossibly large and shapeless body stood hunched over as its blaring blue eyes bore holes into his skull. Even from all those distances away, he could feel the evil it radiated. His lips pressed into a frown so deep he thought his mouth was going to rip right off his face. Only a shaky whimper managed to escape his clenching throat. 

Something sinister formed at the pit of his stomach. The sensation began to crawl, its claws digging into his flesh, dragging its dark, faceless body down his leg. As it drew closer to his calf, its tongue gave his flesh a sloppy lick, tasting him before sinking its fangs into his flesh. Sharp pulses shot up and down his legs. Daryl could feel all the scream he had been wanting to let out pile up in his throat, pressing against his Adam’s apple. Its body squirmed violently like it was trying to snap the neck off of a prey.

He jolted forward, chest and neck lifting from the bed, a loud gasp escaped his mouth as his sweaty body immediately curled into a question mark. His hands urgently found their way to his left calf; the muscle was still vigorously spasming out. An aggressive but muffled ‘fuck’ was let out as he screamed into his pillow. 

The cramp eventually came to an end but Daryl’s pulse still raced loudly in his ears, lungs collapsing and expanding with great speed. The death grip he had around his calf began to soften. His body slowly straightened out as he flopped over onto his back, skin meeting the cold wet spot on the mattress. He couldn’t remember the last time he dreamt, let alone a nightmare. His hands moved slowly to push the sweat-drenched hair from his face. He felt around for his phone. 

6:03 A.M. 

Daryl laid there for a while longer before getting up.

The bathroom’s fluorescent lights made his eyes squint when he turned them on. He splashed his face a few times before catching his reflection in the mirror, blue eyes on blue eyes as he gave himself an unreadable look. 

He turned off the faucet and got ready for work.

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic so please let me know what you think!!


End file.
